


Hand-Me-Down

by commoncomitatus



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Family, Family Issues, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9509003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commoncomitatus/pseuds/commoncomitatus
Summary: Set during 'The Other Shoe', following Regina's confrontation with Zelena.“It’s funny. I always wanted a sister and now I’ve got two. But wouldn’t you know it, neither one of them is the right one.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celinarose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celinarose/gifts).



—

The rattle gleams.

There’s not much light in the miserable hovel she calls home, but what little there is the toy catches and holds tight. It’s a silly thing, small and sweet and sickeningly nostalgic. The smallness makes it seem delicate, but the nostalgia is cloying; it turns the soft little sounds into something almost sharp, something unpleasant, and no matter how hard she shakes it, the feeling won’t be dislodged.

Ah, but it’s so _pretty_. And Zelena has always had a weakness for pretty things.

So let the unpleasant feeling stay, if that’s what it takes to keep the rattle in her hands. At least it’s hers; so few things are.

She holds it up between her thumb and forefinger, studies it like a scientist seeking out answers to the world’s problems, like a student trying to find meaning in the words of some long-dead poet. Like the sort of student she was all those years ago, when she foolishly believed Rumpelstiltskin might have actually chosen her instead of Regina. It’s been a long time since she had to study anything at all; for nearly as long as she can remember she’s been forced to play her own teacher. But it comes naturally now, catching the light, finding all the right angles, learning every flaw, every imperfection, every weakness.

It’s like looking into a mirror.

How many times has she caught the very same things reflected in herself? How many times has she thrown light on her own face, only to find the skin cracked and flawed and wrong? The light doesn’t like her skin very much; it bends and warps, refracts and reflects until it turns sickly and green.

This is it, this silly imperfect little toy. This is all she has of her family, probably the only family she’ll ever deserve. An heirloom, such as it is, handed down by the mother she never knew to the daughter who rejected her, and then at last to the one she never should have had. Such a mess, all this changing of hands, and for what? Zelena is no more loved now than she was before.

She thinks about throwing the rattle against the wall. She thinks about the delicate sound it would make as it smashes into ten thousand tiny little pieces. She thinks about her mother, moved on at long last from the Underworld, and her sister — both of them, the one who doesn’t want her and the one who shows up in her kitchen in the middle of the night — and wonders what they would say about it.

Regina looked at the rattle like it was a crime, like she really thought Zelena had clawed her way into the past and stolen it from her sleeping baby self. _“You have to give that back,”_ she hissed, and Zelena knew before she said anything else that it wasn’t the sweet sisterly compassion she made it out to be. She didn’t mean _‘you have to give it back to the Evil Queen so you can come back to me and we can be a family again’._ Oh, no. She meant _‘it’s mine, so you have to give it back to me’_.

Well, Zelena thinks. That’s Regina all over, isn’t it? Always so bloody desperate for everything to be hers.

Well, not this time, sis, and maybe never again. The Evil Queen might not be the Regina that Zelena thought she knew, but she is still her sister, the only one that ever wanted her. The rattle might not be a mother, no more than the Evil Queen is really Regina, but it is hers now, and Zelena will die before she gives up the only gift her family ever gave her.

She holds the rattle up to the light again, examines her reflection in its surface. The shining silver makes her look very strange, all pale skin and flame-red hair, but it’s still a healthy change from all that green. _Mine_ , she thinks, and clutches it tight.

A low chuckle rends the air. “You know that was meant for the baby, right?”

Zelena rolls her eyes, doesn’t move. “I don’t recall you specifying, actually.”

Quick as a blink, the rattle disappears, vanishing into thin air like it never existed at all. Zelena doesn’t need to look behind her to know where it’s gone, or to whom; the huff of laughter is all the explanation she needs. She turns around anyway, though, because it’s rude not to face a guest in your own house, and in any case the Evil Queen gets testy if she’s denied the proper respect.

“I didn’t think I’d have to.” She’s holding her hand flat and still, the rattle rolling about in her palm, like a frog to be dissected or a flower to be shredded. “You’re a grown woman, Zelena. Or you should be.”

Zelena pouts. “Well, excuse me for wanting to relish the only heirloom I’ll ever get my hands on.” She waves an impatient hand, and the rattle reappears between her fingers. “Robin’s asleep. She’s not using it.”

“Fine, fine. Do whatever you like. Relish your little toy, if it makes you happy.”

“It does,” Zelena mutters. “And I will. Not that I needed your permission in the first place.”

The Queen quirks a brow. “My, my. We are in a sour mood today, aren’t we?”

It’s a leading quip, and Zelena hates it. She wants to turn her back on this conversation, maybe even turn her back on on the Queen as well. Regina’s little visit, brief as it was, left a mark, and she’s not had time to try and scrub it away. Regina, the one she knew first, is so infuriating, so insulting… but loathe as she is to admit it, she’s the sister Zelena wants. This one, the Evil Queen, she might be the part of Regina that’s most like Zelena but she’s also the part that’s least like herself. Funny how that works out.

She’s digging, of course. Even Zelena can figure out that much without help. The other Regina might have all the perception of a wet sponge, but her better half seems to know everything. Zelena halfway suspects she had this place magically bugged or something when she wasn’t looking. She has no idea why the Queen would want to keep an eye on her when she’s already proven she won’t give her away, but she’s long since given up on being trusted. Whatever form she takes, Regina is all about controlling people. It’s enough of a step forward, Zelena supposes, that the Evil Queen actually counts her as ‘people’ in the first place.

Still, though, for all her lack of subtlety the Queen won’t ask the question. She’s too clever for that. She’ll just stare and smile and wait for Zelena to give up the truth all on her own, act like it was her idea all along, like she was always going to tell her about it.

 _Well, she can wait all she likes,_ Zelena thinks spitefully. _I’m not saying anything this time._

“Try not to slouch, dear,” the Queen chides, when the silence stretches out for too long. “You’re making the place look untidy. Now, I know that’s not exactly difficult, but still…”

“It’s my house,” Zelena grits out, rising to the bait in spite of herself. “You’d think a girl could slouch all she wants in her own bloody kitchen.”

The Queen _tsk_ s, but lets it drop. “Come, now,” she says. “Why the long face?”

Zelena opens her mouth to say _‘none of your business’,_ but what comes out is “Guess who paid a visit while you were gone…”

The Queen shows her teeth, a deadly sort of smile that says _‘gotcha’_. “Regina.”

Well, of course she already knew. Just like Regina knew that the Queen was here. Maybe they’re connected or something, being basically the same person and all, but somehow Zelena doubts it’s as simple as that. More likely, as usual, she’s the predictable one. She should probably get used to this sort of thing, everyone else knowing her business before she gets a chance to say a word; lately it seems to be happening every other minute. Maybe one day she’ll be the one pulling that little trick on Regina, but she doesn’t see it happening any time soon.

“You’re good,” she says to the Queen, with no sincerity whatsoever.

“Oh, I know.” The Queen flashes an indulgent, condescending smile. No doubt she also knows that Zelena was being sarcastic; she just enjoys playing it cool. “So, then. What did my lesser half do to put you in such a _wicked_ mood?”

Zelena bristles a little, not just at the reference to her own reputation but also at the way the Queen sneers at Regina’s.

She’s not sure why it bothers her, really, but it does. It’s no secret that Regina and the Evil Queen are polar opposites in every possible way, or that they’re bound to loathe and resent each other. That’s just common knowledge. And anyway, Zelena doesn’t owe Regina anything, not since their last little argument. There’s no reason why she should feel so protective, why the instinct should rise up inside her to defend the woman who isn’t here to defend herself against… well, herself.

It does rise up, though, for all that she doesn’t want it to. Those pesky sisterly feelings, the part of her that is so stupidly desperate for acceptance, for a place to call home, for a family that loves her. Why she wants it from the ‘lesser’ Regina and not this one, she has no idea, but even now, a full day later, she can’t shake the sick feeling that seethed in her stomach when she figured out what the Evil Queen was really all about.

 _“When you said I’d get my sister back,”_ she realised aloud, _“you didn’t mean Regina.”_

It bothers her, though she knows it shouldn’t. She shouldn’t care which version of Regina she gets, which sister appreciates her, just as long as one of them does. She shouldn’t care that the Evil Queen isn’t the same woman who shared a lost memory with her back in the Underworld, the woman who finally, _finally_ seemed to see her and want to know her. All she should care about is the fact that Evil Queen trusts her, that she gave her the gift of a family heirloom, that she actually bloody smiles when she says ‘sister’.

Regina, the other one, never smiles. This one does it all the time. Zelena knows that should be enough, and she doesn’t understand why it’s not.

“You shouldn’t call her that,” she blurts out, without thinking. “Lesser, I mean.”

She sounds like a child when she says it, hopeless and upset. The Queen laughs.

“Why not?” she asks, baring her teeth. “Come now, sis, we both know it’s the truth. Where’s the shame in just admitting it?”

Zelena doesn’t know. Lately, it seems, she doesn’t know much of anything at all.

“It’s tasteless, that’s all,” she mumbles. It sounds ridiculous, like she’s making excuses, and she doesn’t blame the Queen one bit for laughing at her. “She’s not here to defend herself. Slinging insults around behind her back… don’t you think it’s a bit tacky?”

“Hm.” There’s a warning in the sound, clipped and deadly. It makes Zelena flinch in spite of herself, makes her remember her adoptive father, drunk and hateful after Mother died. “You’re in an awful hurry to protect her today. What in the world did she say to you?”

“Nothing.” Well, it’s sort of true. “She just wanted to know if you’d been here.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Nothing.” It’s not nearly so convincing a second time. “I didn’t have to tell her anything. She saw the rattle and figured out the rest all on her own.”

The Queen is staring at her through hooded eyes, like she doesn’t believe a word of it; apparently all that talk about never doubting her again was just another hollow promise. Resigned, Zelena wonders what possessed her to ever believe it could be more than that.

After a beat or two, the Queen lets out a derisive snort, all but confirming it. “Oh, really?” 

“Yes, really.” Zelena tries to keep the hurt from showing on her face. It doesn’t work, though. For all her father’s lessons, she’s never had much success on that front. “She may not have your flair for the dramatic, but she’s still you. She’s not stupid. You should know that better than anyone, don’t you—”

“ _Zelena_.”

It’s more than just a warning this time; it’s a full-blown threat. Zelena has never taken kindly to threats, not from anybody, but she heeds this one because she’s still a slave to that traitorous part of her that aches to be accepted by some — _any_ — version of her sister. She shuts her mouth, pouting, and turns her attention back to the rattle, jingling and jangling restlessly in her hand.

“God,” she sighs, mostly to herself. “Why can’t the two of you just make peace with each other? Is it really so bloody difficult?”

She doesn’t look up, but she can feel the Queen’s wrath split the air. “She’s the one who was too weak to accept me,” she says, with spite. “Or you, for that matter. She wouldn’t be caught dead showing you the respect that I do.”

It’s not untrue. Zelena thinks of Regina, of the way she talks down to her, the way she refuses to accept her or forgive her or even look her in the eye. That shared memory back in the Underworld, it wasn’t so very long ago. Has she really forgotten it already? Isn’t blood supposed to be thicker than anything else?

The Queen takes her by the wrist, turns her around until they’re face-to-face again. Her eyes are lit up with magic. “Don’t take me for granted, Zelena,” she warns. “Don’t forget who your real sister is.”

Zelena turns away again, defiant and maybe a little afraid.

“I won’t,” she says, very quietly.

*

She goes for a walk, under the pretence of giving Robin some fresh air.

If the Evil Queen suspects it’s more for her own sake than the baby’s, she keeps it to herself. Well, what would she say, even if she did? _‘You’re forbidden from leaving your own house’_? No, she’ll sit quietly and bide her time, let Zelena discover for herself that she’s not exactly flush with friends right now. Not that she needs much prompting in that direction; Zelena’s been dealing with that feeling for a long time now, long before the ‘new and improved’ Regina showed up to offer the sister she always wanted.

Robin is well-behaved, of course. She always is. She’s nothing like her mother; Zelena is wicked through and through, but Robin is a perfect little angel. There’s not a trace of wickedness or jealousy in her; she’s the very best of her father, all smiles and warmth, the kindness he only showed Zelena because he thought she was someone else.

Robin — the baby, not the bloody woodsman — is everything Zelena doesn’t deserve, everything that should belong to Regina. Zelena would be the first one to delight in that particular irony, given their history, but she doesn’t. Somehow, it seems unfair.

She ends up at Granny’s. She’s not really sure why, but it seems as good a stop-gap as any in this dive of a town. Besides, the noise coming from that place is impossible to ignore right now; it sounds like half the world is queuing up outside. Might as well join the mindless throng, eh?

And, well, yes. Maybe there is a tiny part of her that hopes she’ll bump into Regina — the real one, the one that resents her — or one of her goody-goody hero friends. The Charmings are always good for a quick ego boost; it’s a little harder to resent her lot in life when the alternative is… well, _them_. It doesn’t matter who she runs into, really, good or bad; she’s never been fussy. Anyone who isn’t an over-zealous villain with a love of black or a crying baby would be a grand improvement on her present company.

Alas, for all the rabble clamouring round the place, she can’t seem to find a single familiar face. At least, not one who has any interest in talking to her. There’s a few dozen refugees from the Land of Untold Stories and a couple of harried waitresses, but that’s all. Not even a free chair to sit in and feed the baby. _Oh well,_ she thinks, and hovers outside like some sort of vagrant.

She’s not alone for long. She gets as far as lifting Robin out of her pram, cradling her close and trying not to drown in the love she feels, when a not-so-strong hand drops down on her shoulder and a familiar voice says “You got business here?”

It’s Granny, of course, scowling up at her like she’s just done something unspeakable. Zelena’s used to that look, of course, but it’s always different coming from Granny.

Funny thing about the old battle-axe: Granny treats pretty much everyone like they’re a villain. Doesn’t matter if they’re best friends or mortal enemies; there’s not a soul in this dead-end town who hasn’t felt her wrath once or twice. Zelena’s pretty sure she even heard the old witch raise her voice at Snow White one time, and no-one ever does that. Hell, even Regina worships the ground Snow walks on these days, more’s the pity. But Granny… well, from Zelena’s admittedly limited experience, she’ll yell at everyone equally.

She’s not yelling now, thank God, at least not just yet. But one wrong move, and Zelena knows that she will. “I asked if you’ve got business,” she says, giving Zelena a rough shake. “If you do, get inside. If you don’t, get out of the way.”

Zelena bristles, like she always does when someone tries to tell her what to do. “Is there a law against standing that I wasn’t aware of?”

“You’re blocking my doorway,” Granny says with an impatient wave. “It’s bad for business.”

“Oh, boo-hoo.” She might have moved without making a fuss, honestly, if the old crone had been a little bit nicer about it. Is it really so difficult to just _ask_? Zelena holds her ground out of sheer petty stubbornness, and cocks her head towards the overflowing diner. “Your business looks good enough from where I’m standing.”

 _God only knows why,_ she thinks, but is just smart enough not to say so. That would get her something worse than yelled at; she’s seen it happen.

Granny narrows her eyes. She doesn’t trust her, of course — no-one in Storybrooke does, not even the Queen — but that’s not enough to turn her away. Granny’s got a temper on her, no doubt about that, and she’s more judgey than a dozen Reginas all rolled into one, but none of those things mean a thing next to her business sense. Good or evil or anything in between, she won’t ever turn away a potential paying customer. 

“Buy something or leave,” she says after a moment.

Zelena still doesn’t budge. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and in any case Granny has a whole diner filled with impatient and probably hungry customers; she’ll have no choice but to crack first and scurry back inside if she doesn’t want to lose more ‘business’.

“I’m feeding my daughter,” Zelena says, with rather more petulantce than she really needs to.

Granny barely even glances at Robin. “No, you’re not.”

“Well, I would be if I could get a minute’s peace.”

Granny scowls, then spins on her heel and stalks inside.

Somewhat naïvely, Zelena assumes that’s the end of that. Claiming the victory, she cradles her daughter close and kisses the top of her head. Robin gurgles, adorable as ever, and gazes up at her. There’s so much love in her big eyes, so much unconditional, wordless, beautiful _love_ that Zelena feels her heart stop cold.

“You see that, sweet pea?” she coos. “Your mummy moves for no-one.”

Robin doesn’t seem particularly impressed, at least not until Zelena does start to feed her, but that’s all right. She’ll understand when she’s grown a little, when she’s talking and walking on her own, when they can talk to each other like actual human people. Zelena has never really been the maternal sort, but just the thought of seeing that happen, of watching her little daughter grow up into a real proper person fills her with so much awe that she can barely breathe.

“You won’t be like me,” she promises. “I’ll make sure of that. You’ll be surrounded by people who love you. Your mummy and your big brother Roland in Sherwood Forest and your Auntie Regina and your… other Auntie Regina…” Her stomach knots at that, though she’s not really sure why. “I’ll explain when you’re older.”

That day is a long way away, though, or at least it should be. It’s hard to know for sure, though, given this town’s reputation for speeding up things that should be left to Mother Nature. Not that she’s bitter about the fact she should still be pregnant or anything; that would just be petty, wouldn’t it? And isn’t it just bloody typical that she’s the one people are pointing fingers at when the great and wonderful Savior is the reason it happened in the first place?

Apparently Robin can sense her rising anger, because she starts fussing and crying and seems to completely lose her appetite.

Zelena tries a couple more times, but Robin’s as stubborn as her mother, and when she decides she’s finished there’s no power in any realm that can change her mind. Zelena might be the sort who never takes ‘no’ for an answer but when her daughter wants — or doesn’t want — something, she would go to the ends of the world to make it happen. She wonders, easing Robin back down into her pram, if that makes her weak.

“Oh, good. You’re done feeding her.”

And, oh, Granny’s back. How lovely.

“So much for victory,” Zelena mutters to herself, not caring that the old hag must have heard. “Come back for Round Two?”

“Come back to send you on your way,” Granny counters, then shoves a covered dish into her hands. “Make yourself useful.”

Zelena fumbles, almost dropping the thing. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” There’s not another soul in this realm or any other who could get away with talking to Zelena like that; of course, there’s also not many who’d be clever enough to make sure both her hands are full before barking orders. “I won’t have you loitering about outside my establishment all day and making the place look untidy. I have a reputation to think of.”

“Believe me,” Zelena quips acidly, “this place’s reputation precedes it.”

“Not to our new guests, it doesn’t,” Granny shoots back. Zelena has to hand it to her; the old bird has a sharp wit. “Now, make yourself useful and deliver that to Belle while it’s still hot.”

Zelena blinks, too thrown to even try and hide her surprise. “Belle?” she echoes, rather stupidly. “The bookworm’s awake?”

“And hungry, I’ll wager.” Apparently that’s all the answer she’s going to get. “I was going to ask David to do it, but he’s off on some secret errand or another. Young people these days…”

Zelena glances down at her fussing daughter. “Tell me about it.”

“And I can’t very well leave the diner in this state, can I?” Granny presses, ignoring her. “So you’re going to do something good and decent for once in your life, and get some food into that poor girl.”

“I have more important things to do,” Zelena gripes.

She tries to shove the dish back, but Granny refuses to take it. “Like what?”

Zelena thinks of the Evil Queen, waiting at home. “None of your business.”

“If it’s not worth telling, it can’t be that important.”

Well, that’s just not true, is it? Zelena opens and shuts her mouth a couple of times, trying to figure out the best way to say so without landing herself in trouble. Not that she thinks there’s much trouble to be had from a pushy old bag with ideals above her station, but one can never be too careful with heroes running around.

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything, though, tactful or otherwise. Granny cuts her off with an impatient shove, and tells her to shut her mouth unless she wants to catch flies.

“Better than the food round here,” Zelena mutters, because she can’t help herself.

Granny shoots her a glare that could freeze one of her fireballs. Zelena is probably lucky it’s not a right hook. 

“You’d do well to keep your thoughts to yourself,” Granny says, like Zelena doesn’t know that perfectly well already. “Now, run along.”

Zelena has no idea how in the world she got roped into this, but she can’t see a clear way out. Granny won’t take the dish back, so what’s she supposed to do? Just leave it sitting there on the doorstep? The food might be all but inedible, but there’s no excuse for waste, now, is there?

Oh, what the hell. At least this way she’ll be setting a good example for her daughter.

“Fine,” she says to the smirking old bat. “Where’s the bookworm hiding these days?”

*

On the pirate’s boat apparently. Because of course she is.

She’s surprised to see her, too, and doesn’t bother to hide it. Well, Zelena supposes she can understand that; she’s not exactly Storybrooke’s most popular new mum, and she’s probably the last person Belle expects to see doing a good deed for some other poor soul. Old prejudices die hard, apparently, and never mind the fact that she’s the reason Belle took an extended nap in the first place, that she’s the one the bloody bookworm came whining to when she needed help.

“What are you doing here?” she’s babbling, about as subtle as one of her books, like she’s never seen Zelena before in her life.

Zelena shrugs, unaffected, and deposits the dish on the table. “Feeding you, apparently.”

“Why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, dear.” She nudges it towards her, not particularly caring whether she wants it or not. “Just following orders, all nice and docile like a good little lapdog. Granny would have done it herself but… well, she couldn’t be bothered.”

Belle frowns, confused. No surprise on that front; there’s not much that doesn’t confuse her. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” she says cautiously. “Uncharacteristically so. Should I be worried you’ve poisoned it?”

“Please. Do I look like Emma Swan?” It’s meant as a slight against the Savior, but it doesn’t come out like it. Her stomach gives a sharp lurch, unpleasantly reminded of her own pregnancy and the Dark Swan’s trickery, and she can’t hide her grimace. “Unlike _some people_ , I understand that incubating life is a delicate process. Or did you forget that I’m the one who helped you out with yours?”

Belle sighs, and relaxes a little. “No. Thank you for that.”

“Think nothing of it.” She tries to smile but it doesn’t come easily. “What’s a little sleeping curse between mortal enemies?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re mortal enemies,” Belle says, and there’s a strange note to her voice.

“Well, of course not. If we were, you’d be dead already.”

“That’s not what I…” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m sorry.”

She uses that word a lot. _Sorry_. If she were feeling just a touch less charitable, Zelena would point out that those sorts of words make a person weak. As it is… well. The poor woman is holed up on a pirate ship all on her own with the Dark One’s spawn growing inside of her. She probably doesn’t need anyone to tell her how pathetic she is.

At long last, hunger outweighing her obvious reluctance, Belle accepts her lunch. Zelena turns away as she reaches for the dish, rolling her eyes; she has no intention of watching the greedy little bookworm stuff her face, not when she’s the only one in the whole sodding town who isn’t getting fed. Strange, the correlation between running around doing everyone else’s dirty work and going hungry.

Whatever it is Granny’s cooked up for her, Belle doesn’t offer to share. She does talk with her mouth full, though, gesturing with her fork at Robin’s pram, parked in a dank little corner.

“She’s beautiful,” she says, with ill-mannered sincerity.

Zelena can’t help herself: she beams. No doubt Belle is just being polite, making silly small-talk to fill the awkward silence, and it’s pretty obvious that she’s just counting the seconds until she can acceptably tell her unwanted guest to bugger off. The lack of sincerity is sickening, quite frankly, but there’s no quicker way to a new mother’s heart than through her child. Zelena has always been predictable, and that’s not about to change now; she’s just about desperate enough for approval that she’ll read a compliment aimed at Robin as a reflection of herself.

“Yes,” she says, feeling her heart soften. “She is, isn’t she?”

Belle swallows a little louder than she should; for all her politeness, she’s not exactly a fount of table manners. Zelena wrinkles her nose, but doesn’t comment.

“How’s she doing?” Belle asks when she’s done swallowing. The question is gentle, but inescapably nosy. “I mean, not many newborns get thrown through a portal to—”

“She’s fine.” It comes out jagged, like a shard of glass close to splintering. “All things considered.”

“Oh.” Belle clears her throat, uncomfortable. “Well, that’s… that’s good.”

Zelena sneers. “You mean that my infant daughter didn’t suffer any ill effects from her time in the Underworld?” God, she can’t believe they’re even discussing this. “Why, yes, it is rather _good_ , isn’t it?”

“Well, I didn’t mean it like that,” Belle mumbles. She’s defensive, but she has the decency to sound at least vaguely sincere. “I’m sorry. I mean, about that and… well, everything. I heard about what happened, you know, between you and—”

“Don’t.” Zelena’s ribs are squeezing her lungs, making it hard to breathe, and before she can stop herself she blurts out, “ _…please_.”

For a long, horrible moment, Belle just stares at her. Zelena feels the magic flare in her chest, chasing away the discomfort. She wants to wipe that awful pitying look off the bookworm’s face, ideally with a fireball or two. If she can take this ridiculous boat down with her too, so much the better; she never much liked the pirate either.

Finally, seeming to sense that she’s one protracted breath away from being deep-fried, Belle clears her throat again and splutters another worthless apology, as though such things ever amounted to anything. Typical hero thinking, Zelena thinks. Make everything all better with a smile and a wave, change the world by slapping on a band-aid and pretending you’re—

“Sorry.”

The word makes her want to scream. “Oh, spare me.”

Belle, of course, ignores her. “It’s just… I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before. _Please_.” She flushes, visibly embarrassed. “Well. Not without sarcasm, anyway.”

“Would you sooner I do something a little more true to form?” Zelena hisses, feeling vulnerable and all the more angry because of it. “Because believe me, that could be arranged.”

She punctuates the point by raising a hand, letting her open palm be more of a threat than any words could hope to be. _I could conjure a dozen fireballs before you even managed a syllable. Just try me, bookworm._

It’s very effective; Belle turns as white as a sheet and frantically casts about for something not so dangerous to stare at. Zelena lets the rush of power calm her, lets it settle across the weight in her chest until it burns and melts away. She might not have much going for her these days — not much of a villain, but as far from a hero as anyone can get — but she still has her reputation. And, at least for now, her powers.

When she’s sure Belle isn’t about to say anything else about the Underworld or its former denizens, Zelena lets her hand drop back down to her side. It hangs there like something unattached to the rest of her, like it’s not really hers at all. For a long, dissociated moment she’s so busy staring at her own hand that she all but forgets Belle is there at all.

Until the little bookworm speaks, at least. “Are… um, are you all right?”

 _What do you think,_ Zelena thinks spitefully. _I’m here with you, aren’t I?_

Aloud, she says, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

She doesn’t know where it comes from, the faux-compassion, the almost-sincerity. Belle doesn’t mean anything to her, or at least she shouldn’t; she’s just Rumpelstiltskin’s arm-candy, the only one stupid enough to stand up to him like she stands a bloody chance. Zelena should be laughing at her — _you were lucky last time: you caught me in a soft moment and I let you talk me into helping; well, that won’t happen again, my pretty, I can promise you that_ — but the mirth won’t come. It’s harder than it should be, looking at a pregnant young woman and not seeing herself in the same position.

She’s not sure she really means it. _Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?_ Like she cares whether Belle’s all right or not, like she cares if anyone is. She didn’t even want to come here in the first place, for pity’s sake, and all of a sudden here she is making small-talk with the bookworm whose very presence makes her ill.

Oblivious as ever, Belle doesn’t sense any of that. She’s smart enough to know when Zelena is on the brink of chucking fireballs at her but apparently this is a bridge too far; she takes the question like it’s the truest thing in the world.

“I’m all right,” she’s saying, babbling away in that infuriating way she has. “Well, as good as can be expected, anyway. I mean, it’s not easy, you know? After what I saw in the dreamworld, well, I—”

“Yeah. Was just being polite. Don’t actually care all that much. Sorry.”

Belle’s face falls. “Oh.” She tries, and fails, to brighten. “Well, it was nice of you to pretend, I suppose. You don’t usually.”

“What can I say?” She glances at Robin. “Motherhood’s made me soft.”

It’s truer than she’d care to admit, to be quite honest. Zelena would never have pegged herself as mummy material, but here she is doting on her little girl like she hangs the moon and the stars. Sometimes, when Robin giggles or gurgles, it’s like she really does.

It snuck up on her, the sentiment and the love she feels when she looks at her, when she sees all the potential for happiness in those bright beautiful eyes. She never had the full pregnancy that Belle will get… and oh, if Zelena has anything to say about it, she _will_ get it; God help her, no-one will ever do to anyone else what Emma Swan did to her. So long as there is breath in her lungs…

Zelena never got the nine months of bonding with the tiny thing growing inside of her, never had the time to even wrap her head around the idea of having a baby before it was right there being ripped out of her arms. One minute she was just a couple of months pregnant, the next she was screaming herself hoarse in that grubby little hospital surrounded by idiots who loathed her.

She wonders if Belle loathes her too, or if that business with the sleeping curse earned her a tentative ally. Zelena has long since given up on the delusion of being loved — even by her sister, whichever version happens by on a given day — but there’s not much she wouldn’t do for someone willing to show her just the tiniest sliver of respect. Belle might be an irritating little bookworm, but she doesn’t look at her the way Emma or the pirate or Regina does; she doesn’t even look at her the way the Evil Queen does. She looks at her the same way she looks at Rumple, like she can see the good in her. Like such a thing ever existed in the first place.

Not that there’s anything personal in that, really. Belle looks at nearly everyone like that.

Far more personal, though, is the way Belle whispers, “What’s it like?”

Zelena frowns. “Being soft?” she asks. “A nightmare, quite honestly.”

“No, not that.” There’s something different in her now, something subdued and almost vulnerable. It strikes at the part of Zelena that cares for her daughter, the part that is slowly but surely learning what the word _care_ really means. “Raising a child on your own.”

_Ah._

“Right.” She coughs, feeling suddenly awkward and not really knowing why she cares at all. “So you and the Dark One…”

“Not going to happen any time soon,” Belle says softly. She doesn’t elaborate, and Zelena finds that she respects her more for that than all the senseless blather in the world. “It’s just me and the baby now.”

“Poor you.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound so bloody genuine, but somehow it does. “Well, it’s not so bad. Lots of bonding time, at least. When your family situation is as precarious as mine, you learn to appreciate things like that.”

It’s true. It’s the one good thing that’s come out of this mess. Her and her daughter, alone in the world like vermin hiding in the corners of that run-down old farmhouse. Having the Queen around makes things feel more homely, more like a family, but every time Zelena sees the other Regina — the real one, if she’s to be believed — she is reminded of how fragile, how illusive that feeling really is. Robin could be ripped out of her arms all over again at any moment, and Zelena has no intention of wasting so much as a second with her.

“Everything changes,” she hears herself breathe, a quiet afterthought that cuts just a little too close to home.

Belle is smiling. Of course she is.

“I can see that,” she says, though the idiotic grin on her face makes it quite clear that she doesn’t see a bloody thing. “I mean, I know it’s not my place to—”

“No, it’s not.” Her mind’s eye conjures a vision of the Evil Queen, another of Regina, and a third of herself trapped between them. It feels like a migraine, like her skull is being split clean down the middle; she sort of wants to cry but she won’t ever show that kind of weakness in front of a hero. “It’s none of your business,” she goes on. “So stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle says again.

“And stop apologising!” _Don’t you see that it makes you weak? Don’t you see that it makes you a coward?_ “Bloody hell. How do you expect to be a mum when you can’t even stand up to me?”

Belle doesn’t say anything for a long while. Zelena squirms, feeling almost vulnerable.

“I don’t want to stand up to you,” Belle says, after what feels like a lifetime.

Zelena doesn’t know how to respond to that. People are always standing up to her, or standing against her, doing whatever it takes to keep her cuffed and collared and in line; _once a villain, always a villain_ , that’s the motto of this town. Unless your name is Regina, of course. It still stings, remembering the way she looked at her, the way she just cast her aside. Zelena tried to do the right thing, she really did; it’s not her fault that Forest Fresh was already dead.

Belle is still staring at her, all puppy-eyed and trusting. Zelena wants to fireball her just to prove she still can. If they’re going to paint her that way anyway, she might as well have some fun with it. She’d do it, too, only she can’t abide the thought of having to clean up.

“Well, then,” she says instead, “you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.” It’s not quite as deliciously vengeful as the fireball, but at least it’s neat and tidy. “You do know I’m one of the bad ones, right?”

Belle chuckles. “You’re forgetting who my husband is.”

Well, that’s a fair point. If Zelena wanted to play a round or two of _‘who’s got the more troubled home life’_ , she couldn’t have come to a better place. Belle probably understands this torn-in-half feeling better than anyone else in Storybrooke right now. Why else would she go crawling back to the Dark One as many times as she has? Why else would she accept a sleeping curse from the Wicked Witch of the West?

Despite herself, Zelena sighs. “What a pair we are, eh?”

Belle’s still smiling, but it’s sad now, tinged with something like loss. “Yeah.”

Zelena studies her for a long moment, not sure what to do or say. A part of her wants to leave, wants to get off this pathetic excuse for a pirate ship and back on dry land; looking at Belle is too much like looking at herself, stuck in a rotted-out husk of a home, dependant on the kindness of not-quite-strangers, so desperate for the person she loves to just love her back, to just love her _enough_ …

Not to mention the business of the little brat growing inside her. Bloody hell, they really aren’t so different, are they?

Cursing herself and her maternal softness, Zelena waves a hand. It’s a quick gesture, sharp and more than a little sloppy, but that doesn’t matter; it does what it’s supposed to. Granny’s empty dish vanishes from the rotted wooden table, replaced in a puff of smoke by a dog-eared little paperback.

Belle blinks, but doesn’t move. Apparently she really is more of an idiot than Zelena thought; for someone who loves learning, she really does need to be taught every little thing. You’d think a bookworm wouldn’t need to be told what to do with a bloody book.

“Here,” Zelena says, gesturing impatiently at the stupid thing. “I didn’t get much use out of it, but maybe you’ll have more luck with yours than I did.”

Hesitantly, as though afraid that the stupid thing will burst into flames, Belle reaches out and takes it. She runs her thumb along the spine, then the cover, reverent and awestruck in that way all idiots get when met with a new toy. Then, ever so slowly, that flicker of sadness falls off her face, leaving only the smile. _Pretty,_ Zelena thinks, then shakes off the thought as Belle opens her mouth.

“ _What To Expect When You’re Expecting_ ,” she reads, because apparently she thinks Zelena is an idiot too, and one who needs the title of her own gift read out to her. “Thank you.”

Zelena grunts, and tries to look like she doesn’t care. “Like I said,” she mumbles, embarrassed, “someone might as well get some use out of the stupid thing. One mum to another, you know?”

Apparently Belle is just smart enough not to push the issue any further. Maybe she senses Zelena’s discomfort, or else maybe she just doesn’t want to show too much gratitude to someone who is technically still one of the bad guys. Given her present less-than-blissful situation with the Dark One, maybe it cuts a little too close to home, sharing parenting tips with someone like Zelena. Well, whatever; Zelena isn’t here under the illusion of making friends. Sometimes a book is just a book.

After a long, uneasy silence, Belle changes the subject completely. She clears her throat, as awkward and tactless as anything Zelena’s ever seen, and mumbles, “Can I ask…?”

Zelena rolls her eyes at the feint at politeness. “It’s your home,” she points out, even as she braces herself. “You don’t need permission to ask a bloody question.”

Belle nods, but it still takes her a moment or two to find her courage. “How’s Regina?”

Well, given the turn of their conversation, that’s not exactly unexpected, is it? Still, the question stings, and it takes a great deal of effort to keep it from showing on her face. Honestly, Zelena is halfway tempted to say _‘which one?’_ just to see the look on Belle’s face. It might take a little of the edge off, dull the pain to make the bookworm squirm, but something stops her before she can say it.

It’s an uncharacteristic gesture, and not least of all because it’s motivated as much by an ill-advised flicker of compassion as it is by self-preservation. Zelena doesn’t know how much Belle knows about the Evil Queen, if she even knows anything at all, and the part of her that really is going soft doesn’t want to put the poor girl under more stress than she already is. It’s bad enough that she’s cooped up on this dank, mildewy boat for the foreseeable future, bad enough that she’s carrying the Dark One’s child alone; why add insult to injury by pointing out all the exciting little adventures she’s missing while she does it?

She’s not sure what compels her to answer truthfully, to let herself hurt in order to spare Belle’s blasted feelings, but that’s what happens. She thinks of the Regina that Belle means, the one whose face makes her want to scream, and says, “Angry.”

Belle nods. Her compassion makes Zelena sick. “She’s been through a lot.”

“We all have,” Zelena counters bitterly. “But some of us don’t have the benefit of a whole bloody town queueing up to support us.”

Belle leans forward a little bit, like she wants to touch her. She’s obsessed with that sort of thing, like all the heroes are, all that hugging and touching and smiling. It’s ridiculous. Blessedly, she doesn’t actually do it, but it’s a close thing, and Zelena takes a couple of precautionary steps back, putting a little space between them as if to say _‘don’t even think about it’_.

“She didn’t always,” Belle tells her, very quietly. “Not so long ago, Regina wasn’t too different from you. The Evil Queen…”

“Oh, spare me the exposition,” Zelena scoffs. “I know all about it.”

It’s true, and far more so than Belle realises.

“Well, then, maybe try to understand where she’s coming from? It’s hard for her too, you know. And with everything that happened, can you really blame her for having a difficult time dealing with it?”

 _I’m not an ‘it’_ , Zelena thinks, but she knows that’s not what Belle’s talking about.

“I did the right thing,” she snaps, wounded and petulant and not caring one bit if she sounds childish. “For once in my life, I did the right thing. For _her_. And how does she thank me for my noble act of self-sacrifice? By pointing fingers and blaming me and judging me.” Her voice is rising. She’s not really angry, but feigning righteous fury is safer than admitting that it just bloody hurts. “Apparently, redemption only counts when she says it does.”

Belle pushes her chair back, swings up to her feet. “Now, that’s not fair.”

“Story of my life,” Zelena counters hotly. “Doesn’t she know I did it for her? Doesn’t she know I…?”

Her voice cracks, and Belle looks at her like she’s cracked open too, like she’s never heard someone trip over their own tongue before. Again, Zelena wants to hurt her, wants to pin her to the wall with her magic then turn around and just leave her like that. It would be fitting, she thinks, letting her starve to death, given that it was lunch that brought her here in the first place. 

She’s never handled humiliation well, and the way Belle is staring at her now is truly humiliating. It makes her feel like a child, not the sullen petulant thing she knows she is but the lonely frightened slip of a girl she used to be, the one with the drunk angry father, the one who only wanted someone to look at her and see her and not think she was a twisted, broken, wicked thing, the one who only wanted to be loved.

Belle moves to her side, brushes her arm with the back of her hand. It’s not quite the hug Zelena was dreading — the contact lasts maybe half a second, if even that — but it might as well be a full-body embrace for all the ways it stops her breath. She flinches, shivers, and doesn’t understand the fire in her nerves.

“She knows,” Belle says, soft and gentle and utterly oblivious. “Of course she does.”

“And how would you know that?” Zelena asks, trying in vain to sneer.

“Because she’s family.” It’s a whisper, breathless and small. “Family always knows.”

*

She’s not proud of the way she runs out of there.

Belle is a strange one, utterly inured to the very worst in everyone. She doesn’t see villains in the same way Emma and her friends do; she only sees wounded kittens and stray puppies. The way she looks at Zelena, the way she sees through her anger and her frustration, is just like the way she looks at Rumple. For all their flaws, their shared darkness and shared histories and shared appreciation for causing chaos, Belle still can’t seem to see either of them as anything more than a lost soul in need of saving.

It’s disgusting. Worse, it makes Zelena shudder inside. Being seen as something different, something that’s not wicked but not automatically good either… it makes her heart stop, makes her knees weak. What is she if she’s not wicked? What is she if she’s not a villain? What is she if she’s not painted green?

So she has to run, has to get off that damned pirate ship. She has to leave before Belle has a chance to see that it’s more complicated than she thinks, before she realises that, like everyone else, she’s got it all wrong.

Belle might know a thing or two about family, being right on the verge of starting her own and all, but she doesn’t know the first thing about darkness, about the kind of rotted hollow existence that makes a person think and feel and do the things that Zelena does. In a way, she supposes, Belle’s precious ‘beast’ has more going for him than she does; at least he had the excuse of that blasted dagger to make him what he is. All Zelena ever had was a life of loveless loneliness.

By Belle’s cock-eyed logic, the Evil Queen should be enough to turn all that around. Villain or no, she’s family too. And look at her, smiling and giving gifts and accepting Zelena exactly the way she is. It should be enough that there’s a version of Regina out there who does care about her, who can love her and can forgive her, who can see her in all her ugly green wickedness and still say that she’s enough.

Zelena knows that’s not true. She’s not enough, and she never will be. Maybe that’s why she turns that worthlessness outwards, why she convinces herself it’s the Queen who isn’t enough for her. It’s safer, isn’t it, than accepting that it’s really the other way around. Maybe it’s why she looks at the Evil Queen — a gift, a version of Regina that actually wants her as a sister — and thinks _this isn’t right_. Maybe it’s why, even now, she really just wants—

“Zelena.”

Speak of the devil.

“Regina?”

Neither one of them feigns a smile. Regina has an odd look on her face, like she can’t figure out whether this run-in is really fortuitous or really unlucky, and Zelena… well, she’s not sure whether she wants to rise up and make this a confrontation or turn tail and skulk away from this like she did from Belle. She wants to do both, to throw the Evil Queen in Regina’s face, to insist that she’s perfectly content with what she has while at the very same time trying not to look too obvious in running away. She feels like a very small animal trapped in the headlights of a very large car, and with no salvation in any direction.

 _“She knows,”_ Belle said, barely five minutes ago. _“Family always knows.”_

So why, then, is Regina staring at her like all she can see is the Evil Queen?

Regina doesn’t say anything, but then she doesn’t have to. Zelena might not be the most perceptive person in any land, but it doesn’t take a genius to read Regina; for all her strength and weakness, she has always worn her heart on her sleeve. She doesn’t need to say the words for them to resonate, catching on the air like someone else’s breath, doesn’t need to ask the question for Zelena to hear it and loathe herself.

 _‘Have you thought about what I said?’_ Regina doesn’t ask. And yes, of course Zelena’s thought about it. She’s thought about almost nothing else since Regina stopped by to ask after her darker half. It’s all she can think about, the bitterness and disappointment on her little sister’s face, but she doesn’t want this Regina to know that. Not when they both know it won’t change anything between them.

She doesn’t give Regina a chance to ask the question, though, and she doesn’t give herself a chance to answer it either. She’s feeling too fragile, cracked and dented inside, and she can’t face that argument. Not when she knows she’ll always lose.

Instead, hating herself, she repeats what she said to Belle. “I did it for you.”

It’s much harder, saying it to the person who actually needs to hear it. Regina’s expression flickers, but the malice in her eyes doesn’t fade at all. Zelena only wishes she expected it to.

“I know you did,” Regina says, just as Belle said she would.

But it’s not enough. They both know it, and saying it aloud won’t make a blind bit of difference. Zelena wishes it wasn’t that way, but it is, at least for now. This Regina, the one her orphaned soul longs for, cannot see a sister in her any more. Hard as she might try, she can’t. She can’t see the woman who killed her own lover so that her sister might understand she’ll always choose her. It doesn’t matter that Zelena wasn’t even there at the time, or that she couldn’t have changed things even if she’d tried; all Regina can see, maybe all she ever will, is the villain responsible for her boyfriend’s death.

 _Hades is dead too._ Zelena wants to scream it until Regina can hear. _I killed him for you, and for Robin. I broke my own bloody heart for you, Regina. What more could you possibly want from me?_

She doesn’t say it, though. What good would it do when she already knows the answer, when it’s written all over Regina’s face? What good would it do either of them to hear it spoken?

Belle is right: Regina does know. It’s just that she doesn’t understand. At least, not any more. Funny how that works. Funny how ripping yourself in half affects more than just the obvious.

Maybe there’s a part of Regina that regrets that, a part that realises there’s something missing inside of her now. Compassion, or whatever passes for it in hearts as dark and fractured as theirs. Maybe she knows that blaming and hating and judging will only lead them both to more pain and more loss and more grief. Maybe she’s just feeling a moment of weakness, because her expression changes to something a little less like herself and a little more like Belle. It looks frightening on her face, that _‘you’re a stray puppy’_ look, and once again it makes Zelena shudder and want to flee.

After a beat or two, Regina says, “She’s not really your sister.”

It’s supposed to be a warning, Zelena supposes. Some sweet sisterly advice, how thoughtful! But it falls flat because Regina’s voice is cold with resentment; she’s not warning her sister, she’s warning a potential enemy. Zelena stiffens, upset. She wants to start slinging insults, throw the truth in Regina’s face until she chokes on it, until the cracks between them are so wide that there’s no hope of ever paving over them again. Clean breaks, she’s learned, are the least painful.

“Maybe not,” she says aloud. “But at least she’s trying to be.”

“She’s using you,” Regina says, with utter conviction. “She knows I’m your biggest weakness, and she’s using that against you.”

“Why would she do that?” Zelena asks. She sounds like a child, and for just a second or two she hates herself more than Regina ever could.

Regina sighs. “Because you’re a useful tool,” she says, flat and matter-of-fact. “And because you’re easily manipulated.”

“That’s not…” She can’t finish, though, far too aware of her own shortcomings to ever deny them. “Oh, whatever. At least she sees me. At least she understands. At least she bloody _tries_.”

“I _am_ trying,” Regina counters, and there’s so much power in her voice that Zelena can almost believe it. She stops, seemingly needing to catch her breath before she can go any further, like she’s somehow feeling the weight of this as well. “Human emotion doesn’t work the same way as magic, Zelena. You can’t just snap your fingers and feel what you want to feel.” She closes her eyes, and Zelena is struck by how well she can see now she’s not being blinded by them. “If you could, maybe we both would’ve turned out differently.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” She’s genuinely angry now, because Regina is poking around in the places that hurt. Zelena never learned to govern her reactions like Regina has; she wears them right there on her skin like a disease. “You and the bookworm, you think it’s all so bloody simple. _Oh, she’s been through a lot. Oh, I’m trying but it’s so hard._ Oh, boo-hoo.” Shaking, she turns away. “You think it’s the grief making you feel this way, but it’s not. You just threw away the only part of you that ever understood me.”

It’s not too far away from what she said the last time they had this conversation, when Regina was mourning over Robin and Zelena wanted so badly to share a piece of that, to grieve and mourn with someone else at long last. _“I lost someone here too,”_ she said, but Regina just looked through her like she didn’t even exist. Apparently it doesn’t count if you’re a villain in love with a villain; only heroes are allowed to feel pain.

Regina doesn’t seem to care about that, though. She throws up her hands, makes it a big dramatic show, and says, as sharp as a kick in the teeth, “Believe it or not, Zelena, not everything is about you.”

Zelena snorts, focusing on the anger instead of the hurt. “I’ve spent a lifetime learning that,” she snaps. “Such a shame the same can’t be said for you. Once again, you’ve decided to take what you want, and the rest of us are left out in the cold.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Regina says; Zelena can see her struggling not to sneer. “And childish.”

“Am I?” Maybe, yes, but that doesn’t mean she’s not right. “You’re the one who didn’t stop to think things through before going in for this little experiment of yours. Didn’t think, didn’t talk to me, didn’t do or say a word about it. Never mind the fact that you were getting rid of the only place inside of you that ever actually wanted me to be your sister. Who cares, right? Such a small price to pay for your own bloody peace of mind.”

Regina narrows her eyes. “That’s not what it was,” she says, very quietly.

“Maybe not,” Zelena mutters. “But it happened anyway, didn’t it?”

“I…” There’s a sigh on Regina’s lips, heavy and trembling, but she swallows it down. Can’t have Big Sis seeing that she’s got to her, now, can she? “Things aren’t that simple, Zelena.”

“They look pretty simple from where I’m standing.” Her breath hitches in her chest, but she doesn’t let the stutter reach her voice; if Regina can pretend not to care, well, so can she. “It’s funny. I always wanted a sister and now I’ve got two. But wouldn’t you know it, neither one of them is the right one.”

“Zelena…”

Oh, but she’s not done yet. She looks Regina in the eye and keeps right on going. “You’re the one I thought was my family, but you don’t want anything to do with me any more. And the other one, the Evil Queen… she cares about me and she shares your family heirlooms, and she treats me like an actual bloody person. She’s everything I wanted you to be, except…”

Regina does sigh now, deep and low. “…except she’s _not_ me.”

“No,” Zelena says softly. “She’s not.” She shakes her head, then throws up her hands in an angry, uncontrolled mirror of Regina. “So what’s a girl to do?”

“I don’t know.” Regina winces. “But I do know you can’t trust her.”

Well, Zelena knows that already, thank you very much. But the more she thinks about it, the more she finds she doesn’t care.

Trust has never been her problem. She never gave it and she never expected it in return. It’s affection, love, respect… it’s _family_ that she wants, that she craves, that will tear her apart if she gives it half a chance. Talking to someone like her about trust is like offering a starving man a glass of water and wondering why he’s not sated. Zelena has no intention of dancing to the Evil Queen’s tune, or helping her with whatever nefarious plans she has for Storybrooke or anywhere else; all she wants, all she ever wanted, is for her daughter to know how it feels to be part of a family.

“This isn’t about trust,” she says to Regina. “It’s about the only family member I have who actually cares about me and my daughter.”

“I care,” Regina says, but it’s guarded and much too low.

“About her,” Zelena agrees sadly, eyeing Robin’s pram. “But what about me?”

Regina just sighs again, and that’s all the answer Zelena needs. A part of her wishes she could be the idiotic cock-eyed optimist that Belle is, who can put so much faith in faith; she wishes she could just close her eyes like the bookworm does, smile and decide that everything will work itself out in the end. There are a great many things she wishes she could be, but what she is falls very, very short of them all.

Regina might know that Zelena killed Hades for her and for Robin, but she no longer understands how she feels, and as long as she’s separated from her other half she never will. It’s not in a hero’s nature to try and understand a villain, and when Regina ripped out the most villainous part of herself she ripped up any hope she had of ever trying to see Zelena’s point of view.

In some hidden, locked-away little corner of herself, maybe Regina does care about her. Sort of. A tiny bit, just enough to colour her voice with sincerity. But it’s not what it was; it’s not what it should be. That flood of affection, of understanding and finally being connected that they shared with Cora in the Underworld… well, maybe Regina ripped that out along with her dark side because Zelena no longer sees any trace of it when she looks at her. All she can see is a stranger who cares more about her dead lover than her living, breathing, _hurting_ sister.

“Zelena,” Regina says, slow and careful and still very guarded. “I can’t be what you want me to be. At least not yet. Robin’s body isn’t even cold, and you…”

She shakes her head, leaves the sentence hanging on the air, unfinished. Zelena wonders if she’ll ever get to hear the end of it. Probably not.

“I _tried_ ,” she says, angry and upset. “I did everything I could. I—”

“I know,” Regina says. “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t play Happy Families with you, Zelena. Not while I’m in so much pain. Not when you’re a living breathing reminder of everything I’ve lost and all the reasons why.”

Zelena bites her lip to keep from doing something she’ll regret. Only magic keeps her from breaking the skin. “So that’s it, then?”

Regina nods. “I can’t be the sister you want,” she says again. “But the Evil Queen is bad news. And for all that I can’t stand to look at you right now, I also don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Too late for that,” Zelena mutters.

The confession stings like a lash, but Regina doesn’t even seem to notice. She just shakes her head like the whole bloody point is irrelevant.

“I’m serious,” she says, fierce and focused. “Believe what you like, but the Evil Queen will hurt you in the end. Today or tomorrow or a week from now, I don’t know. But when she’s got whatever she needs from you, or she finds someone with a better offer…” She breaks off, swallowing convulsively like the words are trying to strangle her. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get as far away from her as you can. Do you understand?”

“Oh, I understand _perfectly_.”

Regina’s entire face transforms. For just a fraction of a second, impossible and painful and twisted in all directions, she almost looks like she does care.

“For your sake,” she says, very softly, “I hope you do.”

*

The Queen is waiting when she gets back home.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table, stretched out and looking for all the world like she owns everything, like it’s her house and Zelena’s the uninvited guest. Zelena might chide her for it, but she can’t deny the Queen wears the place rather better than she does. There aren’t very many people who could out-glamour her — certainly, Regina wouldn’t stand a chance — but the Evil Queen is in a league all of her own. Next to her, even Zelena feels shabby.

“Well, well,” the Queen deadpans. “Look who finally came home.”

“No need to jump for joy,” Zelena says. “Why are you still here?”

“Why, I’m offended that you’d even ask.” There’s a gleam in her eye, the kind Zelena has seen before. The women in her family seem to wear that look like a badge; it means she’s up to something. “Aren’t you the one who wanted to play Happy Families? If memory serves, you leaped at the opportunity to move in with _her_.”

“Well, her house is rather nicer than mine, isn’t it?”

That’s not really the guts of it, of course, but Zelena’s not nearly as stupid as Regina thinks she is. She won’t lay all her cards down on the table just yet, and she definitely won’t let her hunger for family bonding strip her of her common sense. She doesn’t need Regina to tell her to be cautious around the Evil Queen, and she knows enough about any version of Regina to know that she would never be satisfied in a hovel like this without some ulterior motive or another.

“Oh, do stop pouting,” the Queen says, as though hearing her thoughts. “I’m not here to ‘keep an eye on you’, or whatever insidious notion Regina’s planted in your head. Is it so hard to believe that I just want to be close to my sister and my niece?”

“Frankly, yes.”

The Queen narrows her eyes. Zelena squirms, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. She feels almost like she did when she was a girl growing up in Oz, when her father would stand her in front of his mirror and tell her to hide her wickedness and put on her best face; it didn’t matter how hard she tried or what she did, nothing was ever good enough. She knows now that he was frightened, terrified of what she could do, but that was no comfort at the time, not when she so young and so frightened herself. How was she supposed to understand what was going on when all she saw was that he didn’t love her, that her own father didn’t want anything to do with her?

That old vulnerability wakes up in her again now, sharp and so very unwanted, as the Queen stares at her. Zelena wants to use her magic, to prove that she can, that she _is_ good enough, but she doesn’t. The Queen would extinguish anything she could conjure in a heartbeat, and probably extinguish her right along with it.

“She really got to you, didn’t she?” the Queen asks without a hint of kindness. “My weaker half. She’s got you doubting me.”

“No.” It comes too fast, though, and she knows it won’t fool someone as shrewd as the Queen. “Oh, I don’t bloody know. You’re the same person, for pity’s sake! How am I supposed to keep one of you straight from the other?”

“It’s quite simple.” There’s a high ring to her voice, exaggerated patience to make a point. “I’m the one who actually wants to spend my time with you.”

Well. There’s no arguing with that, now, is there? Whether the Queen can be trusted might still be up in the air, but there’s no denying the cold hard truth in what she’s saying. Regina doesn’t want to spend time with her, doesn’t even want to look her in the eye. She blames her, resents her, maybe even despises her, and she made it quite clear that none of this is going to change any time soon. Zelena wants to empathise with that, to understand that she needs to grieve before she can forgive, but why the hell should she when Regina refuses to understand the same bloody thing in her?

She looks at the Evil Queen, sitting at the kitchen table like they’re in her throne room. She’d never deign to put her feet up, Zelena can tell, but still she presents the air of someone who would, someone who thinks the kitchen and everything in it belongs to her. Zelena should really chide her for that, but she can’t seem to find the courage.

Instead she just says, in a small voice, “What do you want from me? If you’re not here to keep an eye on me, then what…?”

The Queen tilts one shoulder in a lazy, regal shrug. “Maybe I just want to be appreciated. And let’s be honest, sis: there’s no-one else in Storybrooke who matches your unique talent for obsessing over me.”

“I don’t _obsess_.”

“Of course you don’t, dear.” The Queen glides to her feet, graceful as a bird, and crosses to Zelena’s side. “And I certainly never obsessed over Snow White, now, did I?”

Zelena flushes. “It’s not the same.”

“Well, at least we agree on something.” Her teeth flash. “Now, why don’t you go upstairs and unwind a bit? Take a bath, enjoy some ‘me’-time, whatever it is that you do when you’re not arguing with my other half or playing with children’s toys. I can mind the baby.”

Zelena opens her mouth to ask why she would offer to do that, but she senses the answer in the moment she thinks it, and so she doesn’t ask.

It’s a test. Of course it’s a test; everything’s a bloody test in their family, isn’t it? The Queen wants to know exactly how deep Regina has wormed her way into her sister’s head, how hard Zelena is thinking about what she said. She can insist all she like that she’s just here for some sisterly bonding, but they both know it’s more than that, and as readily as she insists she won’t ever doubt Zelena’s loyalties again, they both know that’s no more true for her than it ever was for Regina. Some things are universal, it seems, and doubt is one of them. Cora’s genes run deep through all of them.

The Evil Queen isn’t offering Zelena some time off from being Robin’s mum, and she’s certainly not doing it out of the goodness of her heart. Oh, no. She’s asking _‘do you trust me enough to leave me alone with your precious baby daughter?’_. She’s asking _‘is family really more important to you than that delicate little moral compass my lesser half shoved into your chest?’_. She’s saying _‘if you really want a sister, prove it.’_

Regina warned her about this. _“You can’t trust her,”_ she said, and Zelena told her it wasn’t about trust. Well, maybe it’s not for her, but the Queen isn’t Zelena. She might brag that she’s the one who’s like her, but Regina is the one who’s a part of her. For all their differences, they’re still the same person, and the Queen values trust just as highly as Regina does.

Zelena can’t hope to know Regina’s dark side better than Regina herself. No-one can know another person that intimately, that completely, and Zelena never knew much to begin with. She’s caught between the two of them, not really connected to either but so desperate for some little sliver of affection from either one that it’s all but killing her. Regina may be right and good and all that other stupid, soppy hero’s stuff, but the Queen is the one thing Regina is not: she is _here_.

And so, grudging and anxious, Zelena passes her little test. What other choice does she have? She nods and finds a smile, and gently — oh so very gently — eases her beautiful little daughter into the Evil Queen’s arms.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asks, secretly hoping that she does. “Don’t you have more important things to do?”

“Nothing that can’t wait an hour or two,” the Queen says, with a quick sharp smile.

Her eyes glaze over a little as she cradles Robin in her arms, cooing and smiling and seemingly as far from evil as a person can get. Zelena wonders if she’s thinking of the other Robin, the girl’s father; Regina certainly would be, but there’s no grief or blame or resentment in the Queen’s eyes. More likely, it seems, she’s remembering Henry, her own son, when he was a baby.

Zelena doesn’t let herself doubt. She doesn’t want to feel the way she does when the other Regina looks at her. Trust or no trust, she wants to hold on to this feeling, the sense that for the first time in her life there is someone in her family who really, truly wants her there.

She goes upstairs, trying not to think too much or too hard or at all, and draws a bath. There’s not much in the way of hot water out here in her little no man’s land, but it’s good enough for a quick soak to burn away the stress and the strain of too many sisters and too many uninvited feelings. It’s good enough for Zelena, if not for the Evil Queen, and it’s only when she’s there, up to her chin in water with perfect silence all around that she realises how long it’s been since she had this, since the world wasn’t ending or she wasn’t in the Underworld or the Land of Untold Stories or dealing with a wailing Robin.

 _Silence_. Good Lord, she’d all but forgotten what that sounds like.

It gives the illusion of peace, of simplicity. She feels buoyant, suspended by more than just the water, like the world could bleed away outside and she would be none the wiser. She wonders if this is how it feels like to be normal, to have always been normal. To not think or care, to not want anything more or less than she has. It’s such a strange idea to someone like her, to have always had everything she wanted, to have always had, and been, _enough_.

She stays there for probably longer than she should, letting herself imagine this is the way her life has always been. Perfect, peaceful, silent. A little corner of the world that’s all her own. A daughter she loves more than anything else in the world, a sister who will happily take time out from her own busy schedule to bond with her niece, a little house with almost enough hot water. The perfect little nuclear family, the kind she could scarcely have imagined, the kind she spent her whole life being told she would never, ever deserve.

It’s not ideal. But it’s a whole lot more than she ever thought she’d see. _And what do you know? No time-travel required._

After, when the water is cold and she can’t be bothered to heat it back up with magic, she throws on a robe and creeps down the stairs. She’s not sure what she’s trying to accomplish by being all quiet and stealthy, really; for all her talents in other departments, she’s not so naïve as to think she could sneak up on the Evil Queen. Still, possibly in a lingering haze of cock-eyed optimism, part of her wants to try her luck anyway. 

Well, why not? She wants to see what this version of Regina is like when she thinks she’s alone, when there’s no reason to put on airs and graces.

She finds the Queen seated at the kitchen table, cradling Robin in her arms. It’s a blissful little scene, the two of them smiling and giggling and seemingly oblivious to the world and all its horrors; for a breathless, beautiful moment Zelena just stands there in the doorway and watches. She’s sure the Queen already knows she’s there — even when she’s trying to be subtle, she’s not exactly the sort who could blend into the background — but still she carries on with the baby like she’s utterly unaware. A show, maybe, but a very effective one nonetheless; she looks for all the world like Robin is the only thing she can see.

Zelena knows that look well. She wears it herself all the time.

“She must really like you,” she says at last, exposing herself because she can’t hold the love in a moment longer. “She won’t stop crying for anyone in the world other than me.”

 _And her father,_ she recalls sadly, but that’s not going to happen again any time soon, now, is it? She wishes she was still the spiteful, cruel witch who tricked him into thinking she was his wife. Maybe if she cared as little now as she did back then it wouldn’t hurt so much to remember that this Robin is fatherless.

Seeming to sense the twist of her thoughts, the Queen cuts them off with a wry chuckle. “She has your smile,” she observes.

Zelena doesn’t think that’s true. Robin has the most beautiful smile in the whole wide world, pure and innocent and perfect, but Mummy Dearest only smiles when she’s plotting something or hurting someone or doing something wicked. Zelena doesn’t think she’s ever smiled for no reason the way her daughter does, so effortless and easy and without a care in the world; how would the Queen even know what that sort of a smile would look like on her?

“I think that’s her father’s,” she says softly, and hates herself.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” the Queen says. She rises, as graceful as ever, and sets Robin down in her crib. Her touch is gentle, but when she straightens back up to look at Zelena her eyes are dark with magic. “But don’t worry. We’ll change that.”

“We will?”

“Absolutely.” She smooths down her skirt, then claps a hand on Zelena’s shoulder. “Stick with me, sis, and we’ll make sure the whole of Storybrooke gives you the credit you deserve.”

Zelena stares down at her hand. The contact is a strange thing, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. A part of her, the part that is always so sure it’s going to be resented or rejected, wants to turn around and run away, run straight back to the other Regina. At least she knows where she stands with a sister who doesn’t want her. She’s lived with that her whole life, hasn’t she?

But _this_ … a version of Regina who touches her not to restrain her but to reassure her… what in the world is she supposed to do with that? It’s all she ever wanted, but now she’s finally got it she hasn’t the faintest idea what to do with it.

The Queen’s grip isn’t gentle or kind; it’s nothing like the way she cradled Robin just a moment ago. There’s a roughness to it, a threat hidden between the joints in her fingers, but it’s still _contact_ , it’s still _touch_. It’s warmth and compassion, and if Zelena closes her eyes for just long enough maybe it will feel like family.

“I don’t want the whole of Storybrooke,” she says in a whisper.

It’s strange, but as she says it she finds that she feels almost ashamed. What kind of villain doesn’t want power? What kind of green-eyed monster doesn’t want the credit she deserves?

The Queen takes her hand back, frowning. “Of course you do.”

No, she doesn’t. But somehow, as frightening as it is, she does want that strange, unfamiliar contact back. She wants Regina’s hand on her shoulder, the way she looks at her and the way she looks at Robin. She doesn’t want power, doesn’t want to lord it over these nobodies who mean less than nothing. But she does want her sister to care about her, and she would do or say anything in the world to get that hand back on her shoulder, to get those eyes to soften and sparkle, to get Regina — either one, she doesn’t care — to look down at Robin and really see her mother’s smile.

“You’re right,” she lies, blurting it out in a shameful rush. “Of course I do.”

It’s not true. But the Queen’s hand is, and when it finds its way back onto Zelena’s shoulder the surge of warmth that floods her heart is like a kind of magic all its own.

“Of course you do,” the Queen says again, and flashes all her teeth. “And mark my words: my lesser half is going to rue the day she ever rejected you.”

Her smile is deadly, nothing at all like Robin’s. Zelena isn’t sure she’d ever really want that sort of smile for herself. But heaven help her, at least this way she stands a chance of smiling at all.

She waves a hand and conjures a pair of champagne flutes. It’s not really her beverage of choice — too sweet, not nearly strong enough — but at least the Queen approves of her choice. That’s hardly surprising; Zelena has never met a version of Regina in any land that didn’t entertain a healthy appreciation for the finer things in life.

Zelena takes one of the glasses for herself, then hands the other to the Queen. They chime like bells when she clinks them together, as delicate and fragile as her daughter’s smile.

“Well, then,” she says. “Here’s to sisterhood.”

—


End file.
